I'm a total kinkmeme virgin, so this is poop. But I hope you get some enjoyment out of it. And long as fuck. ----
The first time Berwald saw his father in six years, it was to discuss marriage. This wouldn’t be quite so unusual had they been discussing Berwald’s own impending nuptials. But alas, the Oxenstierna clan found themselves cramped about the dining room table to celebrate the June wedding of the fifty eight year old patriarch to his lovely thirty-one year old secretary.
The tragedy of it wasn’t lost on Berwald.
The dinner itself was delicious, of course- nobody could cook like Gunnar Oxenstierna’s own personal chef. Everything was set up in the sort of decadence one could only expect from the upright senator. There were candles and gold place-mats, a pretty little chandelier polished to a blinding gleam, course after course dished out by overtly polite maids, and even soft piano music emitting from the surround speakers. It was straight out of a magazine or old Hollywood picture, only somehow more forced. Berwald was dining in the valley of the dolls, and he could only cope by anchoring himself to the only honest thing in the room.
“Berwald…” Tino winced as his small hand buckled under the Swede’s grip. Berwald mumbled apologetically and ran his thumb along the back of his fiancé’s hand. Tino was no doubt as stressed as he was- he had yet to meet the rest of the clan, although he’d known all he’d needed to from the papers and evening news broadcasts. Though it was entirely his fault they were here now. Berwald was all too ready to feign a migraine or tapeworms or IBS to get out of it, but Tino had insisted. “I’ve never met your family, but you’ve met mine.”
“Your fam’ly isn’t like my fam’ly.” Berwald had argued, despite it being a moot point. As much as Berwald loved a good argument and could always hold his own in debate class (he was the son of a politician, after all), he found he could hardly say no to Tino. Not so much out of love (though those big violet eyes could be impossible to resist) as it was that Tino could be fucking terrifying if so inclined. Berwald was still struck with memories of the day that their Polish neighbour had let his illegally owned pony trample their flowers and make their lawn his own personal turd post.
Of all the days that Berwald would like to see Tino wield a birch branch like a cleaver, it would be right here at this botched Polaroid moment.
To be fair, Tino had a point. Berwald had met the Väinämöinens multiple times, or at least the parents, since the others had the decency to stay in Lapland. They were Berwald’s definition of a real family- genuine smiles and complete interest in Berwald’s work, lighthearted quibbles and inside jokes and stories. Sure, they had become horrible drunks once the vodka was broken out, and the food tasted like rat shit. But Berwald had enjoyed that evening with Tino’s parents- he wouldn’t have invited them round for Christmas dinner. Berwald never was one for false pleasantries.
So come last week, after Berwald had completed the laborious task of shifting all his father’s emails to the junk folder, the phone had rung. Not a telemarketer or a wrong number or anything quite so blissful, but old Mister Gunnar Oxenstierna.
“I’m sure you’ve heard I’m getting married.” Obviously the proper way to greet your son you haven’t spoken to for six years. Berwald, much to his vexation, knew all about it. The scandalous marriage of Gunnar Oxenstierna to his former intern (coincidentally promoted, mind you), whom he had infamously dallied about with whilst married to the kind Ms. Astrid. And upon the long disappearance of Astrid (some say dead, others say married in Turkey, some say sex change), he had up and come out with their forbidden relationship. And what of Gunnar’s two sons, neither much younger than his new squeeze. They must be devastated.
“Isn’t your brother here yet?” Tino asked, eyes flitting up and down the table. With the exception of the new wife and her son, everybody at the table exceeded them by a good ten years.
“Do ya hear children cryin’?” Berwald said in reply, making no effort to keep his voice down. The fact that everybody at the table was whispering was absolutely preposterous. “He’s always a good half hour late. S’annoying.”
“Mmm.” Tino nibbled on his bread pensively. Across the table, Berwald’s grandparents- Stodgy Old Bastard and Painted Faced Crone to you- made no effort in hiding their disapproval. Stodgy was shaking his head, fat neck wobbling like a mad turkey’s, whilst Crone sipped her wine. Judgement rolled off their skin like beads of sweat, and if Berwald were a religious man, he’d sit back and pray for their death. They had been around since time began, practically, glaring in disapproval at the Vikings loading their longboats with loot. Berwald felt his eyelids close as he imagined a great bird, or perhaps a bear, ripping through the wall and tearing them limb from limb. They’d go for Stodgy first- he had all the fat for the two of them on his neck alone. Crony would stand off a ways, shrieking and fighting off the beasts with her purse whilst protesting that this was most uncouth. And her hideous rouge would match so well with the bl-
“Hey hey, everybody! Who missed me, huh?”
Oh shit on skis, no.
But yes, the elegancy of the room had quick been swept up in Hurricane Mathias- doomed to shake them around for a good couple of hours before the alcohol-induced eye lent them room to escape. Batter down the hatches and rush to the cellar, women and children first.
“I know, I know- I’m late and all the cheesey appetizers are gone, but are you guys watching the hockey, because oh fuck did you miss a hell of a match. I seriously thought Denmark was in the hole, but last fucking second-“Mathias interrupted this moment in his epic narration to demonstrate what looked like a Slap-Shot, Rocksteady Edition.
There was silence, as usually follows Mathias’ entrance, before a small boy across the table said “I thought there weren’t any other kids coming.”
Tino snorted a bit into his wine, and Berwald found himself looking over at the kid for the first time. Of course he had noticed him- Gunnar had introduced them, though Berwald had instantly dismissed him as the new wife’s little brat. He was slim and pale, with grey-blue eyes so expressionless Berwald briefly wondered if there was something wrong with him. Not that Berwald was a man of many faces- seems that Mathias had stolen his father’s charming politician’s grin and their mother’s sparkling eyes, leaving Berwald with a death glare that could silence the continent. Yet he hadn’t seen a child before with that jaded an expression- weren’t the youth of today supposed to be wild and bubbly and have fingers sticky with candy, not look like they’d just come off a ten hour shift at the morgue?
Though if Berwald’s mother were a plastic bimbo marrying a man almost twice her age, he’d be miserable as hell himself.
“Not nice, kid.” Mathias wiggled his finger in a hilarious impression of maturity. “How old are you?”
“Eleven. Why, are you looking for help with homework?”
“Lukas!” the new wife scolded, looking up at Mathias apologetically. “I’m sorry, he’s usually so well-mannered.”
Mathias “pssht” it away with a wave of his hand, leaning over the table to shake her hand. “And you are my new mommy?”
“Well…” she giggled a bit behind her hand, what a schoolgirl, as Mathias fixed her with his car-salesman grin and a run of his hand through his perpetually tousled blond hair. Berwald could practically taste the slime oozing out of the cozy little scene. Wait…no, that was what little of his gravlax he had managed swimming back up to say hello.
“He’s not…is he?” Tino whispered, tremor evident in his voice.
“You wanted t’ come.”
“Berry!” Mathias turned towards him with a sweep of his arms and a voice loud enough to lure the birds back from the south. The man demanded hugs everywhere he went, be it a family occasion to job interview to funeral. It was part of what made him such a top seller- five minutes with him and you need a getaway vehicle, stat.
“It’s been so long, bro. Oh my God. Remember, I called you that time but your toilet wasn’t working and you’d call me back later. But that was five months ago, what the hell did you do to your toilet? Who’s this little guy?”
“I don’t think I can keep up here, does he mean me?” Tino was in the process of pouring himself a fourth glass of wine, Crony was nearly eating her own head in condescension, and Berwald was trying to master the art of blowing up heads with his mind. A picture of bliss indeed.
“Mathias, this is m’ fiancé, Tino. Tino, that’s m’ father’s other son.”
“Nice to meet you.” Tino gave a little smile, and his cheeks were getting rosy from all the booze. Two glasses later and he will be singing the Moomins theme, threatening to beat anybody who didn’t join in with his chair.
“Fiancé? Oh man, that’s awesome. See, who told you you would find some nice young guy? Me, right?” It was like he’d introduced them himself. “So when’s the big day, huh?”
“Tenth of July.”
Don’t tell him! Berwald screamed internally, though Tino seemed to recognize his mistake instantaneously and slump a little further in his seat. Mathias’ grin spread all the more.
“Oh my God, that’s so soon! Y’know, I haven’t checked my mail in a bit, but I think my invitation got lost or something ‘cause I just keep getting shit from the insurance companies and this catalogue that I accidentally signed up for like ten million years ago.”
The words “I would invite the Herreys before you” was on the tip of Berwald’s tongue before Tino asked if Mathias had anybody.
“Nah. Free as a bird, brother-in-law. Of the future. I don’t get this whole commitment thing, you know?”
“What a heartbreaker you are.” Lukas said, picking around his salmon. “I’m sure many girls cry themselves to sleep at night knowing that the man with the scathing insights on hockey, catalogues, and toilet backup just won’t give them the time of day.”
Berwald officially adored this child, and would be proud to call him brother.
“Scathing is a big word for a kid your age.” Mathias looked truly impressed.
“I’m eleven, not four. How old were you when you learned intermediate vocabulary? Wait, I don’t want to know.”
“I’m twenty seven.”
“I don’t care.”
“I mean, to a twenty-seven year old, you’re just a kid. Man, I remember when I was eleven. I was a real rough son of a bitch.”
“Language, Mathias.” Gunnar scolded. His first words to them of the evening.
‘Sorry, kid. Don’t swear. But yeah, I used to get into fights all the time. Won all of them, too, until the little nerd I picked on toughened up and kicked my ass- my arse into next week. So I started bugging this French pussy, and now he works for your dad.” Mathias leaned back, looking like he’d just imparted the wisdom of the ages upon the Oxenstiernas.
“How many knocks to the head did you experience during your son of a bitch days?”
At this point, the entire table was stunned and appalled at this impertinent child and his rotten little mouth and disrespect for elders, even if the elder was a raving lunatic.
“What?” Lukas asked of the offended stares. “I’m conducting a study for science class- how does outward influence affect your intellect and maturity? Like, do all bullies grow up to be stupid asses? I conclude yes.”
The gaze shifted (in perfect, school of fish like unison) towards Mathias. His confounded expression was promptly replaced with a cocksure grin and a short little laugh.
"I love this kid!" --- If I fucked up the formatting, please let me know. And, you know. Characterization and stuff. Because I feel like I lobotomized Denmark.
I was kind of in stitches the entire way through. I don't think you lobotomised Denmark at all actually - to me it felt like he's somewhere between subtlety completely being lost on him and "okay, I can be a nice guy and give everybody the benefit of the doubt where this little twerp is concerned". That doesn't necessarily mean stupid, right? ANYWAY I can't speak for everybody else here but I LOVE HIM TO BITS CHANGE NOTHING.
And when Denmark wasn't busy stealing the scene there was Norway with amazing sarcastic glory. And Sweden. Holy shit on skis Sweden. asfjhgfajgasljfsh SO GOOD.
This is glorious. I am camping out for more, authornon.
I agree 100% with the previous commenter. This, author-person, is hysterical. The entire time I was reading this, I had a fist stuffed in my mouth so I didn't disturb the entire house with my laughter. I was going to quote my favorite lines back at you, but there are so many of them that it would take forever and a day, so instead I'll just say this. You have such an awesome sense of humor, and Denmark, and Sweden, and this is not poop, author-person. This is definitely not poop. This is the opposite of poop. This is the exact inverse of poop. On the scale of poop, this is negative incredibly poopy. BE PROUD, AUTHOR-PERRSON, BECAUSE THIS IS AWESOME.
I am also camping out for more. F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5
This is brilliant, made me laugh out loud a number of times. I adore insolent little Lukas and how everyone was just stunned with his interaction with Matthias. Agree with first and second comments hands down. Also, Berwarld's point of view. Utter win.
this part if pure fun. I mean, Norway you're the best. Denmark is ice to, as a bit too friendly oblivious man. And Sweden being the serious, man of the house with committed fiance. I can't wait to see how all of this will unfold.
Oh my God, your reviews are just...thank you! I appreciate them so much, you have no idea. Sadly, we're getting nowhere fast here. Writer's Block set up camp in my brain, and thus we get filler. Seriously, Norway isn't even in this. Ugh. --- At this very moment, it had been precisely four days since the Oxenstierna Dinner Extravaganza. The full ninety-six hours. And Mathias had the routine set out to eradicate the experience from his mind. It usually took at least eighty proof liquor, a turn in the designated sex stall at his favourite bar, and a good hangover to get his mind back where it usually was.
Somehow, it didn’t quite come to pass this time. He blamed Berwald.
Berwald. Good, upstanding Berwald, the Oxenstierna Success Story. He didn’t succumb to the life of lying and belly-crawling laid out for him like a piss-yellow brick road. No, he’d gone on to the world of honest journalism, delivering his opinions to the world without a hint of condescension or bias. He’d become what Mathias’ neighbour called “the ostriches. The bastards up top with the ties and reading glasses and personalized coffee mugs.” Mathias didn’t know if Berwald had a personalized coffee mug, but he did have a cute little fiancé more than willing to fill it for him.
Everything a good man like him deserved.
“Why an ostrich?” Mathias had asked. “Ostriches are those funny birds that stick their heads in the ground when bad shit goes down. Oh yeah, they’re big. They’re big and intimidate you with those crazy fucking eyes and long legs. But here’s something else- ostriches can’t fly. I bet they want to fly, what on this fucking planet doesn’t? So they look at the birds awesome enough to fly, birds like me. And since they can’t rise up with us, they break our wings and drag us into the sand so we can all rot in misery together. Heads under the ground from birth till death, that is. Only difference is that our body eventually joins the party.”
Mathias wasn’t sure if he agreed with Gilbert. Not the bit about the eyes- ostrich eyes freaked the shit out of him. But from birth till death. That wasn’t true- there was always childhood.
Sadiq Adnan, founder of Adnan’s Automobiles and Mathias’ boss, had long ago tried to impose a policy of no fucking children allowed. It hadn’t come to pass, of course- being an open child-hater didn’t do wonders for his image as a public figure, after all. But Sadiq was hardly a man to be silenced, unless money was on the line. When the room had cleared and only Mathias was left trying to salvage the latest patient- the mask would come off, the smile would wane, and a projectile stream of fury-vomit was underway.
“Fuckin’ little brats and their goddamn- you know what that little shit did? Course ya didn’t, you were off doin’ whatever the fuck you do when you should be working. He fuckin’ pissed on the seat. Like we don’t got fuckin’ bathrooms, yet he chooses to do his business all over the FJ Cruiser. The best damn vehicle I found off the 69, that one. Dammit, remember how much time we spent reupholsterin’ the seats after we found the bloodstains? Fuckin’ hours, man. It’s like all I do is laid to waste by some overindulged little fuck. And he fuckin’ bit me! But nooo, s’not his fault, just a little boy. Fuck it” Sadiq punctuated his statement but chucking his cigarette out the open window.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh, there? He was pretty little.” Mathias knew that trying to assuage his boss during a child-induced tantrum was like trying to diffuse a bomb with a paperclip- borderline impossible and ultimately very painful. Didn’t stop him from trying.
“What, I should let the little fucker get off with it ‘cause he don’t know how to use his prick yet? Fuck, where’s my cigarette?”
“You threw it out the window. And, I guess. I mean, he didn’t know any better. Can we drop it?”
“Have I ever told ya about my neighbour’s kid?”
More than the Pope has mentioned God. But Sadiq ranting about the drooling little snot from Athens would be a nice background song for Mathias’ perfunctory task. Namely, making sure that there was nothing grotesque lurking inside the seats of the Focus that had been hibernating outside the Spanish café for more than two weeks.
“Stupid little shit- well, all kids are stupid, but this one must be snortin’ kitty litter because no way can you be that dumb. And then there was the time he broke into my house to-“
Mathias’ adoration of children wasn’t so much derived from how adorable they looked when they slept, or the rosy pink cheeks and chubby clenched fists. Rather, it was a sort of projection. No, that wasn’t the word for it. It was just a happiness at seeing someone at the peak of their life. Many would argue what were the greatest years- the Berwalds of the world championed for adulthood, former prom queens and quarterbacks spoke of high school days with a reverence most reserve for spiritual enlightenment. But Mathias would advocate for childhood any day of the week. Back when he wouldn’t be threatened with castration for stealing pens, or had the liberty to wake up when he wanted, or had his guileless smile labelled as genuine happiness rather than shit-eating manipulation or stupidity.
“You’d like my stepmom’s kid. My stepbrother then, I guess. His name is Lukas; he’s eleven, and real fucking smart. He knows all these books and words and shit, man. He was funny, too. Real sharp- when I told him I sold cars for a living, he said…shit, I forgot, but it was something like ‘so your gorgeous charming smile got you further than your brain, I’m shocked, Frank’. Something like that, but I don’t know who this Frank is. But he knew the word ‘scathing’. Man, I’m an adult, and I’m not even sure I know what that means.”
“You’re not exactly a good point of reference for smarts, man. And Lukas sounds like your regular egghead bitch, bet he’s real popular on the playground.”
That comment flipped Mathias’ proverbial dimmer switch. He didn’t like to think of Lukas being picked on- it was envy, he knew. From birth, the impulse to resent and covet was as intuitive as hunger. The little fucks wouldn’t see the tranquil wisdom and sharp wit most go their whole lives without achieving, let alone at eleven. They’d see a fragile little doll, with the delicate white skin and immaculate golden hair, and act on their hellion inclination to destroy it beyond recognition.
That hair clip didn’t help matters much.
Just the thought of sweet little Lukas sporting bruises and bloodied lips made Mathias want to retch. Perhaps he’d talk to him about it- he was his big brother now, after all. It was well within his duty to look out for the little boy the way Berwald had, at one point, looked out for him.
Well, until Berwald decided to move on to a life in which he had no little brother. Invite got lost in the mail his ass.
“You look weird. You okay? Is there somethin’ in there?” Mathias blinked himself right back to present. Was there? He’d completely forgotten what he was doing. Ah yes, the honest, noble profession of fixing up found cars and selling them back to the public for tremendous deals.
He could at least rest easy knowing that Lukas wouldn’t be saddled with such a profession, nor stupid enough to drift anywhere near a salesman who used a Chinese proverb as his slogan.
“No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”
Sadiq groaned, pinching his the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “’Kay, I know you can barely walk and talk at the same time, but for fucks sake, I don’t have all damn day. We’ve got piss to clean.” By we, he meant you do it whilst I eat my lunch and tell you all about the time my neighbour’s kid dug up my entire tulip garden in search of the ancient world.
Further proof that Gilbert was wrong. A head in the sand would at least be quiet.
Night had rolled around, as it was wont to do, and Mathias was snug as could be in his apartment. A window view to the dumpster, pipes that bang every time he so much as thinks about water, and a hippopotamus for an upstairs neighbour. Not what Mathias considered fit for a king, but he’d take it for now.
He wondered what sort of house Berwald and fiancé lived in. Something large, yet practical, he bet. They probably had the white picket fence; one Berwald painted and erected himself. They would have a garden that was somehow always in full bloom, and a lawn that no dog dared piss on. They had a pet, he was sure- a fluffy little cat, perhaps, or a quiet puppy that would curl up between them as they watched the evening news. They’d read the newspaper together every morning- maybe not the one Berwald wrote for, he was too outwardly humble to pull shit like that. He would, however, mentally criticize every article- how clearly biased, too many run-on sentences, fragment, doesn’t this column have a stinking editor? And they’d each drive a nice car that wasn’t originally owned by a registered sex offender.
Mathias clenched the blankets between his fingers, seething a bit.
Fucking envy, cropping up like an unwanted boner. He didn’t hate his brother, he didn’t. He never did. Maybe Berwald hated him, but that was fine. Mathias could be the better person here, at the very least. The media could call him the wayward son, the drunkard, he didn’t care. It was true anyway
Besides, they also called him the man with the debilitating smile. Berwald didn’t know how to smile. There was always that. --- See, I said it was filler. I did. Turkey, oh my God shut up, you're not even supposed to be in this story. But, in my defense, Sweden got a fair setup- Denmark deserves one too.
lolol, 'honest journalism'. Authornon, you make me giggle. That Berwald's job is so clean and honest made me cringe in anticipation for Mathias' - and you most certainly delivered. God, I want to take a shower after reading Turkey, he just seems so ... greasy. And sleazy. While also somehow being strangely endearing enough not to be completely off-putting. (I swear, I mean this in the best possible way!)
I thought it was a great setup for Denmark. :D He definitely deserves one. Already his character is really complex - I love how Mathias *barely knows Lukas* - that brat even told him off using Big Words and Sarcasm last time - and he still already thinks the world of him, like the kid can do no wrong. (Makes me wonder whether Lukas will ever cross a line. Or if there even are lines to cross.) The protectiveness angle is a really charming side to Mathias' obliviousness. And you introduce the brother issue aspect of things which would have to be in there somewhere, honestly, given what a shining paragon of virtue Berwald is...and then Mathias, who is like the lunchbag letdown of the family with a job like that. (Really it's no wonder he puts on such a happy, exuberant face).
analysis!anon loves analysis. Sheesh. Anyway I hope this makes sense to you!
The fact that this was apparently good enough to warrant analysis makes me giggle like an idiot. Thank you!
I was worried about including Turkey. Nobody wants the greasy turkey at Thanksgiving, why would they want him here? But I'm glad he was just nasty enough. He's not even supposed to be here.
Your analysis makes perfect, sense, you caught everything and then some. I had actually never thought of Norway crossing a line. Not Denmark's line, anyway. Hmmm.
Hawks are welcome. I seriously need to tone down the lifebits or else this'll be a million years of exposition and rambling and there will be no verboten sex. And that would be bad.
Ooh man, I love the comparisons between Berwarld's job and Matthias' job. Even though it seems Matthias got the short end of the stick, he seems like the more interesting brother.
Sleazy Sadiq is still sexy even tho he's greasy~!!!
Somehow, mornings didn’t get much easier with practice. Six thirty, when the sky was still tinged with grey and the last vestiges of dreams held Mathias hostage in his own mind. He had absolutely no desire to introduce his bare feet to the Antarctic floorboards, but an obligation is an obligation. They can say whatever they want about Mathias, but couldn’t say he never stuck to his convictions.
Just ten more minutes.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t his alarm blasting him out of unconsciousness, but his phone. The phone located right next to his bed. The phone he couldn’t afford to chuck at the wall again. Dammit. The only people who ever called him were Sadiq, Kirkland, and Beilschmidt. Kirkland was usually passed out in some unknown part of the city at this hour, and Beilschmidt would much rather invite himself over than stoop to something so common as calling first. Leaving Sadiq. The man who would keep calling through the fucking Ragnarök.
Fuck it.
“Mmm?”
“Oh, thank God I was able to reach you!”
Sadiq was sounding rather feminine this morning. Was somebody lacing his cigarettes with estrogen? Yet it so happened that his boss was not compensating for something with his permanent stubble and random bouts of aggression. It was Mathias’ stepmother, and she was super stressed.
“I am super stressed! My husband and I have to go to the doctor today, and somebody has to pick up Lukas from school and I didn’t think I could find somebody on such short notice but…”
Lukas? What a stroke of luck. In the six days that had ensued since the dinner, the little blond boy with the extensive vocabulary and hair clip had made himself a regular guest in Mathias’ mind. The last few days had been far from pleasant, just an endless stream of half-truths and boredom. It’d be nice to chat with somebody who wasn’t yet whittling their life down to scraps and digging through the remains, searching for one sign that things were still worth living for.
“Anyway, it’d be just super if you could get him from school today, he gets out at three, but if you’re too busy…”
Oh yes, he still hadn’t agreed.
“Yeah, sure, I’d love to.” He meant that, it wasn’t just a blanket statement people used to make themselves sound more invested and generous than they were. Mathias could be earnest. Funny how nobody believed that.
“Oh, Mathias, you are a lifesaver! I don’t know what we’d do without you!”
“Call Berwald?” No, they already did. People always went to good, strong, reliable Berwald first. Mathias was the afterthought, the screw-up, the second copy smudged with black ink and riddled with white lines. Why would anybody-
“Well, I suppose, but Gunnar says he never answers his calls. Besides, Lukas likes you. He couldn’t stop talking about you all week.”
…oh?
“Really?” Mathias chuckled, leaning against his bedframe. He was now feeling far too jovial for the hour when the moon still lingered in the gradually brightening sky and the orchestra of coffee brewing could be heard across the city. “Ha, that’s great. You know, I couldn’t stop thinking about him either.”
There was a brief silence on the other end, and Mathias wondered if their connection had been cut. Wait…no, there she is, clearing her throat. Must’ve been distracted by something, that happens. “Yes, well. He gets out at three, I’ll just...give you the directions.”
Hastily jotted directions, a lecture from Sadiq, one potentially bedbug-infested Pinto, and four cups of watery coffee later, Mathias was out and on the way to pick up his little brother. The day, unfortunately, hadn’t perked with him- the only thing clear in the sky was the dreadful fact that a rainstorm was imminent. That didn’t matter much to Mathias, who really was looking forward to seeing his bright little brother once again.
It wasn’t a wild estimate to say that Mathias loved kids- the man acted like a child himself, after all. But what drew him to Lukas so much eluded Mathias. Was it that he spent so much time with adults who acted like children that it was an exotic new flavour to meet a child who acted so much like an adult? Was it that he’d never been a big brother before and was now relishing the experience for all it was worth? Was he trying to be the big brother Berwald never was to him? Was he so unsatisfied with his adult life that he’d rather watch the blossoming of a smooth-skinned, wide-eyed boy with actual potential than face his own shame? Had all the alcohol finally gone to his brain and destroyed all sense of priority he had?
Whatever. Now where’s the kid?
The kid happened to be sitting on his favourite tree stump, reading his favourite book while wearing his favourite blue boots. In other words, positively ecstatic. Of course, nobody could tell from his face. Lukas had over the years perfected his straight face- his mother was exuberant enough for the both of them, and now that she was marrying a politician, Lukas had all the more reason to shrink into the background. No, Lukas’ bliss was his little secret.
Lukas really hated his mother’s new husband. He liked quiet, and life with Mr. Oxenstierna was shaping up to be anything but. He didn’t know much about the man people said was his new father- Mr. Oxenstierna treated him more like a cat than a stepson, what with occasionally patting his head when he passed (which messed up Lukas’ hair, and then he’d have to fix it and that was really annoying) and feigning mild interest in his school affairs. He knew that Lukas was top of the class, and that he had placed first in the city wide science fair. But Lukas would bet his entire bookshelf that Mr. Oxenstierna didn’t know about his frequent trips to the library to read everything he could about Norse mythology, or how much he liked the beach, or even what his middle name was.
But that was okay. Lukas was perfectly fine. After all, he only liked questions that weren’t about him.
According to his watch, it was almost quarter past three, and Lukas wondered if his mother had forgotten. A quick glance at the sky told him that a storm was encroaching, and he really didn’t want his book to get wet. The janitor usually let him wait inside, so maybe- ugh, he could really concentrate better without that infernal honking.
Wait.
No. - Why wasn’t Lukas coming over? Silly boy. Mathias ignored the pointed glares that the other parents were giving him as he pressed down harder on the horn and stuck his head out the window.
“Lukas! Hey, Lukas! Over here! It’s me, remember me! C’mon, I don’t have all day, my boss’ll murder me if I stay out past four!” - Lukas wondered if people could just will themselves to die. No messy suicide necessary- no gun, no noose, no pills. Just the right amount of thought and instant death. Though, if that were real, Lukas probably would have died ten times over the course of his life. Perhaps he was just being dramatic. Then again, Mathias was now halfway hanging out the window. So maybe not.
His mother had a motto, “grin and bear it”. One she would whisper to him during birthday parties and family get-togethers and weddings. Lukas didn’t grin, but he did follow through with the gist: do what you’re supposed to, not what you want to. It just so happened that he couldn’t bring himself to simper and giggle like his ditz of a mother. His coping mechanism was a lot less pleasant but a fair bit more discrete. His fingers, of their own volition, would press against the sides of his legs. It was inconspicuous, enough so that Lukas could hardly remember doing it when he saw all the bruises decorating his thighs. When that wouldn’t suffice, he’d scratch- once again, not even noticing. He’d rip at his skin until it bled, and the resulting wound would be swollen and sore, chafing against his sweaters before an unsightly black nub would take over.
It was a disgusting habit, he knew that, and he’d been scolded by his mother enough times for doing it. “You have such nice skin.” She would say. “Do you want ugly little scars all over it? Don’t think so.” What an idiot. He was an eleven year old boy; it was as natural as wet dreams for him to go against her orders.
From the hands of one idiot into another’s, Lukas thought.
“Are you done embarrassing me, or can we go?” He grumbled as he climbed into the passenger seat. Ugh, empty coffee cups and haphazardly scribbled notes everywhere. Gross. Why couldn’t his mother have gotten the Grumbly Giant to get him, at least he was quiet.
“Sorry, kid, but I’m on a tight schedule here. Y’know, work and stuff. Hey, what you got there?”
“A book, idiot. Where’s my mother?”
“Doctor, not sure why. She’s not sick or something, is she? Man that’d suck- you get married to some rich guy and then you croak before you can spend a dime.”
“How Kafka.”
“No, my name’s Mathias, remember? And I know that’s a book, silly. What’s it about, it looks pretty heavy.”
Small talk had never been Lukas’ forte. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time somebody had taken enough interest in him to initiate conversation. Most people just took one look at his austere expression and assumed something was wrong with him. At least this half-wit was trying.
“Just mythology and legends. You wouldn’t like it, there aren’t many pictures.”
“Oh yeah, that’s cool. I’m pretty into Nordic shit myself.”
“Isn’t that nice, please don’t tell me more.”
“Yeah, right after I finished high school, I was kinda…y’know, just hanging around wondering what to do with myself. College didn’t work out too well for me, so I just went off to Europe. Best decision I ever made.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
Mathias seemed to tense a bit at that- minor details, like the tightening of his fist around the wheel and the little line his mouth made. This was fleeting, of course, as he soon dissolved back into the raucous oaf Lukas loathed to call stepbrother.
“Guess so. But yeah, college and stuff didn’t really pan out, so I met up with this guy I went to school with. Absolutely fucking insane, but the guy knows a good time. So he had this shitload of money left over from somebody dying or something, and he had this big speech about life being too short to spend behind a desk. So we went to Europe. Germany, Finland, Norway. Denmark. Most awesome country on the planet right there. You ever been?”
“No. But I heard it’s full of drunkards, so I guess it’d be right up your alley.”
Mathias laughed. “You know me well, kid. Man, the shit I did in Copenhagen. Can’t tell you until you’re eighteen, though. Nah, sixteen, you should be able to handle this shit when you’re sixteen.”
Why on earth would Lukas want to know about the sex, drugs, and rock n roll Mathias indulged in during his stay in Denmark? This balanced on the tip of his tongue, but his mouth was a filthy traitor and said something most definitely not appropriate.
“I grew up in Norway. Did you like it?”
Oh yes, Lukas, tell this asshole you barely know all about your life and then act as though his insipid, booze-addled brain can come up with anything resembling a valid thought by asking his fucking opinion!
“Well, I went up there right after Denmark. At this point, Gilbert- my friend- had run into some tourist and was off doing whatever, I don’t think anybody wants to know. So I went up to- turn left here, right?- up to Risør. And it was so…”
Lukas, why are you holding your breath, you don’t care, his opinion is stupid.
“It was probably the most peaceful I’d ever been in my life. I was staying right off the coastline, in a small little family owned hotel. And you know, in Germany and Denmark and everywhere else, all I did was just fuck around. Like Gilbert said, life’s too short not to fuck around. But there I just…” Mathias’ words trailed off a bit at that. He sighed, with a little self-deprecating laugh. “It’s hard to describe, I’m no good with words. The best I can say is… I was kind of different there, in Risør. I spent one whole night just sitting on the beach, staring at the water and just…thinking. Wasn’t even stoned or anything. It was weird.”
“Yeah.” Lukas turned away to stare out the window. What had started as ominous clouds and light spit had at some point morphed into a full on torrential rainstorm. Lukas always liked how much greener everything looked in the rain. He wasn’t sure if it was the water or the contrast against the grey sky that made that way, but the why never mattered as much as the how.
“Where are you from?”
“Stavanger.”
Mathias hummed, before a crease marred his forehead. He turned into Lukas’ neighbourhood- the sort of community that referred to itself as estates and had carbon copy houses lined up in perfect rows. Every garden was perfectly cultivated and tended to, the walks were swept free of any stray leaves or bird shit, and if not for the perfectly polished brass numbers adorning each home one would never be able to tell them apart. Just lost in a sea of curb-appeal houses and grinning young women trimming their rosebushes.
“Did the people who designed these roads ever see a car before? How the fuck am I supposed to-“Mathias, apparently, had discovered the wonders of their road. It was threadlike, winding, and somewhere between incompetency and a sick joke.
“You can just let me out here.” As humorous as it was to watch Mathias try not to massacre any of the pricey sports cars littering the streets, Lukas wasn’t in the mood for schadenfreude that day. Not during the few blissful hours of solitude an empty house granted him. God, he could do whatever he wanted now.
“Tell me about it.”
“About what?”
“Stavanger. It’s a bit up north, huh? Damn cold, Norway is. I forgot my gloves one day and couldn’t even drive, my hands were so numb. Got arrested for it, too. Shoulda gone back to the hotel when I noticed they were gone, but hindsight is a bitch. Like these roads.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“Because I was drunk the whole time.”
Lukas couldn’t help the little giggle that bubbled out of his chest at that. “You’re so stupid.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t my brightest moment. But you get to be my age, you’ll understand.”
“I don’t think so. And I thought you said that you felt more relaxed in Norway.”
There it was again, that clench of his hand on the steering wheel. Did he think Lukas didn’t notice? Mathias turned his face away slightly. “It’s a long story. But you didn’t answer my question. How was Stavanger?”
“It was….” Beautiful? Nice? The only place I’ll ever see as home, not this stupid set-piece in this imitation of my life? Choices, choices. Lukas ultimately chose “it was where I lived before my mom met your dad.” He said the last bit in an accusatory tone, even though he knew Mathias could hardly be held accountable for his father’s actions. He’d even go so far as to say that Mathias wasn’t thrilled with their new family situation either.
Minor details like these never stopped Lukas. But all Mathias did was click his tongue and mumble “I know.”
Silence permeated the little car, a sort of comfortable silence that Mathias didn’t feel inclined to destroy with stupid jokes or random observations. However, when they finally pulled up to the house (number 21, with the orchids), Lukas couldn’t get out of the shitmobile faster.
“Uh, thanks.” He muttered, almost drowned out by the sounds of the war between raindrops and pavement. Mathias’ “anytime, kid!” couldn’t be drowned out by the Earth crashing into the sun. Fancy that contrast.
“Oh, hey!”
What now? Lukas would really prefer not to be soaked through to the bone.
“What?”
Mathias drummed his fingers on the dash and leaned back in the seat a bit, his leisurely movement only emphasizing the fact that whilst Lukas was being consumed by a Biblical shower, Mathias was nice and toasty in his rusty little metal can on wheels.
“Will you get on with it before my skin washes off?”
Oh my god this is fabulous! It's so hard to find decent Nordic fic, let alone awesome, hilarious, well-characterized fic like this. Can I just say how much I love Tino? Oh my god I love Tino! I love everyone in this fic; it's really, really funny and awesome and ahhhh. Hmmm my only suggestion would be to humanise the parents a little bit as the fic goes on? Unless this is already finished, then don't worry about it! Hahaha. I'm just not a big fan of monster!parents--I think that's usually not how it is in slightly-dysfunctional-but-not-abusive families: the parents aren't evil, just self-centered and inattentive. So looking forward to seeing how this unfolds! Keep up the good work!
same anon here--finished the fic and you're actually doing a very good job of characterising the parents! and ahhh the angst, and lukas is so IC and still so /eleven/. poor babies, both of them. ♥ hope you update soon!
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Untitled, Part 1/? A
(Anonymous) 2012-01-13 11:00 pm (UTC)(link)----
The first time Berwald saw his father in six years, it was to discuss marriage. This wouldn’t be quite so unusual had they been discussing Berwald’s own impending nuptials. But alas, the Oxenstierna clan found themselves cramped about the dining room table to celebrate the June wedding of the fifty eight year old patriarch to his lovely thirty-one year old secretary.
The tragedy of it wasn’t lost on Berwald.
The dinner itself was delicious, of course- nobody could cook like Gunnar Oxenstierna’s own personal chef. Everything was set up in the sort of decadence one could only expect from the upright senator. There were candles and gold place-mats, a pretty little chandelier polished to a blinding gleam, course after course dished out by overtly polite maids, and even soft piano music emitting from the surround speakers. It was straight out of a magazine or old Hollywood picture, only somehow more forced. Berwald was dining in the valley of the dolls, and he could only cope by anchoring himself to the only honest thing in the room.
“Berwald…” Tino winced as his small hand buckled under the Swede’s grip. Berwald mumbled apologetically and ran his thumb along the back of his fiancé’s hand. Tino was no doubt as stressed as he was- he had yet to meet the rest of the clan, although he’d known all he’d needed to from the papers and evening news broadcasts. Though it was entirely his fault they were here now. Berwald was all too ready to feign a migraine or tapeworms or IBS to get out of it, but Tino had insisted. “I’ve never met your family, but you’ve met mine.”
“Your fam’ly isn’t like my fam’ly.” Berwald had argued, despite it being a moot point. As much as Berwald loved a good argument and could always hold his own in debate class (he was the son of a politician, after all), he found he could hardly say no to Tino. Not so much out of love (though those big violet eyes could be impossible to resist) as it was that Tino could be fucking terrifying if so inclined. Berwald was still struck with memories of the day that their Polish neighbour had let his illegally owned pony trample their flowers and make their lawn his own personal turd post.
Of all the days that Berwald would like to see Tino wield a birch branch like a cleaver, it would be right here at this botched Polaroid moment.
To be fair, Tino had a point. Berwald had met the Väinämöinens multiple times, or at least the parents, since the others had the decency to stay in Lapland. They were Berwald’s definition of a real family- genuine smiles and complete interest in Berwald’s work, lighthearted quibbles and inside jokes and stories. Sure, they had become horrible drunks once the vodka was broken out, and the food tasted like rat shit. But Berwald had enjoyed that evening with Tino’s parents- he wouldn’t have invited them round for Christmas dinner. Berwald never was one for false pleasantries.
So come last week, after Berwald had completed the laborious task of shifting all his father’s emails to the junk folder, the phone had rung. Not a telemarketer or a wrong number or anything quite so blissful, but old Mister Gunnar Oxenstierna.
“I’m sure you’ve heard I’m getting married.” Obviously the proper way to greet your son you haven’t spoken to for six years. Berwald, much to his vexation, knew all about it. The scandalous marriage of Gunnar Oxenstierna to his former intern (coincidentally promoted, mind you), whom he had infamously dallied about with whilst married to the kind Ms. Astrid. And upon the long disappearance of Astrid (some say dead, others say married in Turkey, some say sex change), he had up and come out with their forbidden relationship. And what of Gunnar’s two sons, neither much younger than his new squeeze. They must be devastated.
Re: Untitled, Part 1/? B
(Anonymous) 2012-01-13 11:02 pm (UTC)(link)“Isn’t your brother here yet?” Tino asked, eyes flitting up and down the table. With the exception of the new wife and her son, everybody at the table exceeded them by a good ten years.
“Do ya hear children cryin’?” Berwald said in reply, making no effort to keep his voice down. The fact that everybody at the table was whispering was absolutely preposterous. “He’s always a good half hour late. S’annoying.”
“Mmm.” Tino nibbled on his bread pensively. Across the table, Berwald’s grandparents- Stodgy Old Bastard and Painted Faced Crone to you- made no effort in hiding their disapproval. Stodgy was shaking his head, fat neck wobbling like a mad turkey’s, whilst Crone sipped her wine. Judgement rolled off their skin like beads of sweat, and if Berwald were a religious man, he’d sit back and pray for their death. They had been around since time began, practically, glaring in disapproval at the Vikings loading their longboats with loot. Berwald felt his eyelids close as he imagined a great bird, or perhaps a bear, ripping through the wall and tearing them limb from limb. They’d go for Stodgy first- he had all the fat for the two of them on his neck alone. Crony would stand off a ways, shrieking and fighting off the beasts with her purse whilst protesting that this was most uncouth. And her hideous rouge would match so well with the bl-
“Hey hey, everybody! Who missed me, huh?”
Oh shit on skis, no.
But yes, the elegancy of the room had quick been swept up in Hurricane Mathias- doomed to shake them around for a good couple of hours before the alcohol-induced eye lent them room to escape. Batter down the hatches and rush to the cellar, women and children first.
“I know, I know- I’m late and all the cheesey appetizers are gone, but are you guys watching the hockey, because oh fuck did you miss a hell of a match. I seriously thought Denmark was in the hole, but last fucking second-“Mathias interrupted this moment in his epic narration to demonstrate what looked like a Slap-Shot, Rocksteady Edition.
There was silence, as usually follows Mathias’ entrance, before a small boy across the table said “I thought there weren’t any other kids coming.”
Tino snorted a bit into his wine, and Berwald found himself looking over at the kid for the first time. Of course he had noticed him- Gunnar had introduced them, though Berwald had instantly dismissed him as the new wife’s little brat. He was slim and pale, with grey-blue eyes so expressionless Berwald briefly wondered if there was something wrong with him. Not that Berwald was a man of many faces- seems that Mathias had stolen his father’s charming politician’s grin and their mother’s sparkling eyes, leaving Berwald with a death glare that could silence the continent. Yet he hadn’t seen a child before with that jaded an expression- weren’t the youth of today supposed to be wild and bubbly and have fingers sticky with candy, not look like they’d just come off a ten hour shift at the morgue?
Though if Berwald’s mother were a plastic bimbo marrying a man almost twice her age, he’d be miserable as hell himself.
Re: Untitled, Part 1/? C
(Anonymous) 2012-01-13 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)“Eleven. Why, are you looking for help with homework?”
“Lukas!” the new wife scolded, looking up at Mathias apologetically. “I’m sorry, he’s usually so well-mannered.”
Mathias “pssht” it away with a wave of his hand, leaning over the table to shake her hand. “And you are my new mommy?”
“Well…” she giggled a bit behind her hand, what a schoolgirl, as Mathias fixed her with his car-salesman grin and a run of his hand through his perpetually tousled blond hair. Berwald could practically taste the slime oozing out of the cozy little scene. Wait…no, that was what little of his gravlax he had managed swimming back up to say hello.
“He’s not…is he?” Tino whispered, tremor evident in his voice.
“You wanted t’ come.”
“Berry!” Mathias turned towards him with a sweep of his arms and a voice loud enough to lure the birds back from the south. The man demanded hugs everywhere he went, be it a family occasion to job interview to funeral. It was part of what made him such a top seller- five minutes with him and you need a getaway vehicle, stat.
“It’s been so long, bro. Oh my God. Remember, I called you that time but your toilet wasn’t working and you’d call me back later. But that was five months ago, what the hell did you do to your toilet? Who’s this little guy?”
“I don’t think I can keep up here, does he mean me?” Tino was in the process of pouring himself a fourth glass of wine, Crony was nearly eating her own head in condescension, and Berwald was trying to master the art of blowing up heads with his mind. A picture of bliss indeed.
“Mathias, this is m’ fiancé, Tino. Tino, that’s m’ father’s other son.”
“Nice to meet you.” Tino gave a little smile, and his cheeks were getting rosy from all the booze. Two glasses later and he will be singing the Moomins theme, threatening to beat anybody who didn’t join in with his chair.
And he would.
Re: Untitled, Part 1/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-13 11:10 pm (UTC)(link)“Tenth of July.”
Don’t tell him! Berwald screamed internally, though Tino seemed to recognize his mistake instantaneously and slump a little further in his seat. Mathias’ grin spread all the more.
“Oh my God, that’s so soon! Y’know, I haven’t checked my mail in a bit, but I think my invitation got lost or something ‘cause I just keep getting shit from the insurance companies and this catalogue that I accidentally signed up for like ten million years ago.”
The words “I would invite the Herreys before you” was on the tip of Berwald’s tongue before Tino asked if Mathias had anybody.
“Nah. Free as a bird, brother-in-law. Of the future. I don’t get this whole commitment thing, you know?”
“What a heartbreaker you are.” Lukas said, picking around his salmon. “I’m sure many girls cry themselves to sleep at night knowing that the man with the scathing insights on hockey, catalogues, and toilet backup just won’t give them the time of day.”
Berwald officially adored this child, and would be proud to call him brother.
“Scathing is a big word for a kid your age.” Mathias looked truly impressed.
“I’m eleven, not four. How old were you when you learned
intermediate vocabulary? Wait, I don’t want to know.”
“I’m twenty seven.”
“I don’t care.”
“I mean, to a twenty-seven year old, you’re just a kid. Man, I remember when I was eleven. I was a real rough son of a bitch.”
“Language, Mathias.” Gunnar scolded. His first words to them of the evening.
‘Sorry, kid. Don’t swear. But yeah, I used to get into fights all the time. Won all of them, too, until the little nerd I picked on toughened up and kicked my ass- my arse into next week. So I started bugging this French pussy, and now he works for your dad.” Mathias leaned back, looking like he’d just imparted the wisdom of the ages upon the Oxenstiernas.
“How many knocks to the head did you experience during your son of a bitch days?”
At this point, the entire table was stunned and appalled at this impertinent child and his rotten little mouth and disrespect for elders, even if the elder was a raving lunatic.
“What?” Lukas asked of the offended stares. “I’m conducting a study for science class- how does outward influence affect your intellect and maturity? Like, do all bullies grow up to be stupid asses? I conclude yes.”
The gaze shifted (in perfect, school of fish like unison) towards
Mathias. His confounded expression was promptly replaced with a cocksure grin and a short little laugh.
"I love this kid!"
---
If I fucked up the formatting, please let me know. And, you know. Characterization and stuff. Because I feel like I lobotomized Denmark.
Re: Untitled, Part 1/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-14 12:09 am (UTC)(link)How is this poop? How could this ever be poop?!
I was kind of in stitches the entire way through. I don't think you lobotomised Denmark at all actually - to me it felt like he's somewhere between subtlety completely being lost on him and "okay, I can be a nice guy and give everybody the benefit of the doubt where this little twerp is concerned". That doesn't necessarily mean stupid, right? ANYWAY I can't speak for everybody else here but I LOVE HIM TO BITS CHANGE NOTHING.
And when Denmark wasn't busy stealing the scene there was Norway with amazing sarcastic glory. And Sweden. Holy shit on skis Sweden. asfjhgfajgasljfsh SO GOOD.
This is glorious. I am camping out for more, authornon.
Re: Untitled, Part 1/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-14 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)And shit on skis was...I don't know. Just said it. Thank you!
Re: Untitled, Part 1/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-14 02:11 am (UTC)(link)I am also camping out for more. F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5
op!
(Anonymous) 2012-01-14 03:12 am (UTC)(link)This is brilliant, made me laugh out loud a number of times. I adore insolent little Lukas and how everyone was just stunned with his interaction with Matthias. Agree with first and second comments hands down. Also, Berwarld's point of view. Utter win.
This can never be poop.
I am very much waiting for more!♥♥
Re: Untitled, Part 1/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 10:58 am (UTC)(link)Untitled, Part 2/? A
(Anonymous) 2012-01-18 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)---
At this very moment, it had been precisely four days since the Oxenstierna Dinner Extravaganza. The full ninety-six hours. And Mathias had the routine set out to eradicate the experience from his mind. It usually took at least eighty proof liquor, a turn in the designated sex stall at his favourite bar, and a good hangover to get his mind back where it usually was.
Somehow, it didn’t quite come to pass this time. He blamed Berwald.
Berwald. Good, upstanding Berwald, the Oxenstierna Success Story. He didn’t succumb to the life of lying and belly-crawling laid out for him like a piss-yellow brick road. No, he’d gone on to the world of honest journalism, delivering his opinions to the world without a hint of condescension or bias. He’d become what Mathias’ neighbour called “the ostriches. The bastards up top with the ties and reading glasses and personalized coffee mugs.” Mathias didn’t know if Berwald had a personalized coffee mug, but he did have a cute little fiancé more than willing to fill it for him.
Everything a good man like him deserved.
“Why an ostrich?” Mathias had asked.
“Ostriches are those funny birds that stick their heads in the ground when bad shit goes down. Oh yeah, they’re big. They’re big and intimidate you with those crazy fucking eyes and long legs. But here’s something else- ostriches can’t fly. I bet they want to fly, what on this fucking planet doesn’t? So they look at the birds awesome enough to fly, birds like me. And since they can’t rise up with us, they break our wings and drag us into the sand so we can all rot in misery together. Heads under the ground from birth till death, that is. Only difference is that our body eventually joins the party.”
Mathias wasn’t sure if he agreed with Gilbert. Not the bit about the eyes- ostrich eyes freaked the shit out of him. But from birth till death. That wasn’t true- there was always childhood.
Sadiq Adnan, founder of Adnan’s Automobiles and Mathias’ boss, had long ago tried to impose a policy of no fucking children allowed. It hadn’t come to pass, of course- being an open child-hater didn’t do wonders for his image as a public figure, after all. But Sadiq was hardly a man to be silenced, unless money was on the line. When the room had cleared and only Mathias was left trying to salvage the latest patient- the mask would come off, the smile would wane, and a projectile stream of fury-vomit was underway.
Re: Untitled, Part 2/? B
(Anonymous) 2012-01-18 09:46 pm (UTC)(link)“Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh, there? He was pretty little.” Mathias knew that trying to assuage his boss during a child-induced tantrum was like trying to diffuse a bomb with a paperclip- borderline impossible and ultimately very painful. Didn’t stop him from trying.
“What, I should let the little fucker get off with it ‘cause he don’t know how to use his prick yet? Fuck, where’s my cigarette?”
“You threw it out the window. And, I guess. I mean, he didn’t know any better. Can we drop it?”
“Have I ever told ya about my neighbour’s kid?”
More than the Pope has mentioned God. But Sadiq ranting about the drooling little snot from Athens would be a nice background song for Mathias’ perfunctory task. Namely, making sure that there was nothing grotesque lurking inside the seats of the Focus that had been hibernating outside the Spanish café for more than two weeks.
“Stupid little shit- well, all kids are stupid, but this one must be snortin’ kitty litter because no way can you be that dumb. And then there was the time he broke into my house to-“
Mathias’ adoration of children wasn’t so much derived from how adorable they looked when they slept, or the rosy pink cheeks and chubby clenched fists. Rather, it was a sort of projection. No, that wasn’t the word for it. It was just a happiness at seeing someone at the peak of their life. Many would argue what were the greatest years- the Berwalds of the world championed for adulthood, former prom queens and quarterbacks spoke of high school days with a reverence most reserve for spiritual enlightenment. But Mathias would advocate for childhood any day of the week. Back when he wouldn’t be threatened with castration for stealing pens, or had the liberty to wake up when he wanted, or had his guileless smile labelled as genuine happiness rather than shit-eating manipulation or stupidity.
Oh, those were the days.
Re: Untitled, Part 2/? C
(Anonymous) 2012-01-18 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)“You’d like my stepmom’s kid. My stepbrother then, I guess. His name is Lukas; he’s eleven, and real fucking smart. He knows all these books and words and shit, man. He was funny, too. Real sharp- when I told him I sold cars for a living, he said…shit, I forgot, but it was something like ‘so your gorgeous charming smile got you further than your brain, I’m shocked, Frank’. Something like that, but I don’t know who this Frank is. But he knew the word ‘scathing’. Man, I’m an adult, and I’m not even sure I know what that means.”
“You’re not exactly a good point of reference for smarts, man. And Lukas sounds like your regular egghead bitch, bet he’s real popular on the playground.”
That comment flipped Mathias’ proverbial dimmer switch. He didn’t like to think of Lukas being picked on- it was envy, he knew. From birth, the impulse to resent and covet was as intuitive as hunger. The little fucks wouldn’t see the tranquil wisdom and sharp wit most go their whole lives without achieving, let alone at eleven. They’d see a fragile little doll, with the delicate white skin and immaculate golden hair, and act on their hellion inclination to destroy it beyond recognition.
That hair clip didn’t help matters much.
Just the thought of sweet little Lukas sporting bruises and bloodied lips made Mathias want to retch. Perhaps he’d talk to him about it- he was his big brother now, after all. It was well within his duty to look out for the little boy the way Berwald had, at one point, looked out for him.
Well, until Berwald decided to move on to a life in which he had no little brother. Invite got lost in the mail his ass.
“You look weird. You okay? Is there somethin’ in there?”
Mathias blinked himself right back to present. Was there? He’d completely forgotten what he was doing. Ah yes, the honest, noble profession of fixing up found cars and selling them back to the public for tremendous deals.
He could at least rest easy knowing that Lukas wouldn’t be saddled with such a profession, nor stupid enough to drift anywhere near a salesman who used a Chinese proverb as his slogan.
“No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”
Sadiq groaned, pinching his the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “’Kay, I know you can barely walk and talk at the same time, but for fucks sake, I don’t have all damn day. We’ve got piss to clean.” By we, he meant you do it whilst I eat my lunch and tell you all about the time my neighbour’s kid dug up my entire tulip garden in search of the ancient world.
Further proof that Gilbert was wrong. A head in the sand would at least be quiet.
Re: Untitled, Part 2/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-18 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)He wondered what sort of house Berwald and fiancé lived in. Something large, yet practical, he bet. They probably had the white picket fence; one Berwald painted and erected himself. They would have a garden that was somehow always in full bloom, and a lawn that no dog dared piss on. They had a pet, he was sure- a fluffy little cat, perhaps, or a quiet puppy that would curl up between them as they watched the evening news. They’d read the newspaper together every morning- maybe not the one Berwald wrote for, he was too outwardly humble to pull shit like that. He would, however, mentally criticize every article- how clearly biased, too many run-on sentences, fragment, doesn’t this column have a stinking editor? And they’d each drive a nice car that wasn’t originally owned by a registered sex offender.
Mathias clenched the blankets between his fingers, seething a bit.
Fucking envy, cropping up like an unwanted boner. He didn’t hate his brother, he didn’t. He never did. Maybe Berwald hated him, but that was fine. Mathias could be the better person here, at the very least. The media could call him the wayward son, the drunkard, he didn’t care. It was true anyway
Besides, they also called him the man with the debilitating smile. Berwald didn’t know how to smile. There was always that.
---
See, I said it was filler. I did. Turkey, oh my God shut up, you're not even supposed to be in this story. But, in my defense, Sweden got a fair setup- Denmark deserves one too.
Re: Untitled, Part 2/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-18 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)I thought it was a great setup for Denmark. :D He definitely deserves one. Already his character is really complex - I love how Mathias *barely knows Lukas* - that brat even told him off using Big Words and Sarcasm last time - and he still already thinks the world of him, like the kid can do no wrong. (Makes me wonder whether Lukas will ever cross a line. Or if there even are lines to cross.) The protectiveness angle is a really charming side to Mathias' obliviousness. And you introduce the brother issue aspect of things which would have to be in there somewhere, honestly, given what a shining paragon of virtue Berwald is...and then Mathias, who is like the lunchbag letdown of the family with a job like that. (Really it's no wonder he puts on such a happy, exuberant face).
analysis!anon loves analysis. Sheesh. Anyway I hope this makes sense to you!
moar please? :D :D
Re: Untitled, Part 2/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-19 09:35 pm (UTC)(link)I was worried about including Turkey. Nobody wants the greasy turkey at Thanksgiving, why would they want him here? But I'm glad he was just nasty enough. He's not even supposed to be here.
Your analysis makes perfect, sense, you caught everything and then some. I had actually never thought of Norway crossing a line. Not Denmark's line, anyway. Hmmm.
Thank you again for the review!
Re: Untitled, Part 2/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-19 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Untitled, Part 2/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-20 02:58 am (UTC)(link)Thank you!
Re: Untitled, Part 2/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-20 09:31 am (UTC)(link)Sleazy Sadiq is still sexy even tho he's greasy~!!!
Re: Untitled, Part 3/? A
(Anonymous) 2012-01-28 01:09 am (UTC)(link)Just ten more minutes.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t his alarm blasting him out of unconsciousness, but his phone. The phone located right next to his bed. The phone he couldn’t afford to chuck at the wall again. Dammit. The only people who ever called him were Sadiq, Kirkland, and Beilschmidt. Kirkland was usually passed out in some unknown part of the city at this hour, and Beilschmidt would much rather invite himself over than stoop to something so common as calling first. Leaving Sadiq. The man who would keep calling through the fucking Ragnarök.
Fuck it.
“Mmm?”
“Oh, thank God I was able to reach you!”
Sadiq was sounding rather feminine this morning. Was somebody lacing his cigarettes with estrogen? Yet it so happened that his boss was not compensating for something with his permanent stubble and random bouts of aggression. It was Mathias’ stepmother, and she was super stressed.
“I am super stressed! My husband and I have to go to the doctor today, and somebody has to pick up Lukas from school and I didn’t think I could find somebody on such short notice but…”
Lukas? What a stroke of luck. In the six days that had ensued since the dinner, the little blond boy with the extensive vocabulary and hair clip had made himself a regular guest in Mathias’ mind. The last few days had been far from pleasant, just an endless stream of half-truths and boredom. It’d be nice to chat with somebody who wasn’t yet whittling their life down to scraps and digging through the remains, searching for one sign that things were still worth living for.
“Anyway, it’d be just super if you could get him from school today, he gets out at three, but if you’re too busy…”
Oh yes, he still hadn’t agreed.
“Yeah, sure, I’d love to.” He meant that, it wasn’t just a blanket statement people used to make themselves sound more invested and generous than they were. Mathias could be earnest. Funny how nobody believed that.
“Oh, Mathias, you are a lifesaver! I don’t know what we’d do without you!”
“Call Berwald?” No, they already did. People always went to good, strong, reliable Berwald first. Mathias was the afterthought, the screw-up, the second copy smudged with black ink and riddled with white lines. Why would anybody-
“Well, I suppose, but Gunnar says he never answers his calls. Besides, Lukas likes you. He couldn’t stop talking about you all week.”
…oh?
“Really?” Mathias chuckled, leaning against his bedframe. He was now feeling far too jovial for the hour when the moon still lingered in the gradually brightening sky and the orchestra of coffee brewing could be heard across the city. “Ha, that’s great. You know, I couldn’t stop thinking about him either.”
There was a brief silence on the other end, and Mathias wondered if their connection had been cut. Wait…no, there she is, clearing her throat. Must’ve been distracted by something, that happens. “Yes, well. He gets out at three, I’ll just...give you the directions.”
Hastily jotted directions, a lecture from Sadiq, one potentially bedbug-infested Pinto, and four cups of watery coffee later, Mathias was out and on the way to pick up his little brother. The day, unfortunately, hadn’t perked with him- the only thing clear in the sky was the dreadful fact that a rainstorm was imminent. That didn’t matter much to Mathias, who really was looking forward to seeing his bright little brother once again.
Re: Untitled, Part 3/? B
(Anonymous) 2012-01-28 01:12 am (UTC)(link)all sense of priority he had?
Whatever. Now where’s the kid?
The kid happened to be sitting on his favourite tree stump, reading his favourite book while wearing his favourite blue boots. In other words, positively ecstatic. Of course, nobody could tell from his face. Lukas had over the years perfected his straight face- his mother was exuberant enough for the both of them, and now that she was marrying a politician, Lukas had all the more reason to shrink into the background. No, Lukas’ bliss was his little secret.
Lukas really hated his mother’s new husband. He liked quiet, and life with Mr. Oxenstierna was shaping up to be anything but. He didn’t know much about the man people said was his new father- Mr. Oxenstierna treated him more like a cat than a stepson, what with occasionally patting his head when he passed (which messed up Lukas’ hair, and then he’d have to fix it and that was really annoying) and feigning mild interest in his school affairs. He knew that Lukas was top of the class, and that he had placed first in the city wide science fair. But Lukas would bet his entire bookshelf that Mr. Oxenstierna didn’t know about his frequent trips to the library to read everything he could about Norse mythology, or how much he liked the beach, or even what his middle name was.
But that was okay. Lukas was perfectly fine. After all, he only liked questions that weren’t about him.
According to his watch, it was almost quarter past three, and Lukas wondered if his mother had forgotten. A quick glance at the sky told him that a storm was encroaching, and he really didn’t want his book to get wet. The janitor usually let him wait inside, so maybe- ugh, he could really concentrate better without that infernal honking.
Wait.
No.
-
Why wasn’t Lukas coming over? Silly boy. Mathias ignored the pointed glares that the other parents were giving him as he pressed down harder on the horn and stuck his head out the window.
“Lukas! Hey, Lukas! Over here! It’s me, remember me! C’mon, I don’t have all day, my boss’ll murder me if I stay out past four!”
-
Lukas wondered if people could just will themselves to die. No messy suicide necessary- no gun, no noose, no pills. Just the right amount of thought and instant death.
Though, if that were real, Lukas probably would have died ten times over the course of his life. Perhaps he was just being dramatic. Then again, Mathias was now halfway hanging out the window. So maybe not.
His mother had a motto, “grin and bear it”. One she would whisper to him during birthday parties and family get-togethers and weddings. Lukas didn’t grin, but he did follow through with the gist: do what you’re supposed to, not what you want to. It just so happened that he couldn’t bring himself to simper and giggle like his ditz of a mother. His coping mechanism was a lot less pleasant but a fair bit more discrete. His fingers, of their own volition, would press against the sides of his legs. It was inconspicuous, enough so that Lukas could hardly remember doing it when he saw all the bruises decorating his thighs. When that wouldn’t suffice, he’d scratch- once again, not even noticing. He’d rip at his skin until it bled, and the resulting wound would be swollen and sore, chafing against his sweaters before an unsightly black nub would take over.
Re: Untitled, Part 3/? C
(Anonymous) 2012-01-28 01:14 am (UTC)(link)From the hands of one idiot into another’s, Lukas thought.
“Are you done embarrassing me, or can we go?” He grumbled as he climbed into the passenger seat. Ugh, empty coffee cups and haphazardly scribbled notes everywhere. Gross. Why couldn’t his mother have gotten the Grumbly Giant to get him, at least he was quiet.
“Sorry, kid, but I’m on a tight schedule here. Y’know, work and stuff. Hey, what you got there?”
“A book, idiot. Where’s my mother?”
“Doctor, not sure why. She’s not sick or something, is she? Man that’d suck- you get married to some rich guy and then you croak before you can spend a dime.”
“How Kafka.”
“No, my name’s Mathias, remember? And I know that’s a book, silly. What’s it about, it looks pretty heavy.”
Small talk had never been Lukas’ forte. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time somebody had taken enough interest in him to initiate conversation. Most people just took one look at his austere expression and assumed something was wrong with him. At least this half-wit was trying.
“Just mythology and legends. You wouldn’t like it, there aren’t many pictures.”
“Oh yeah, that’s cool. I’m pretty into Nordic shit myself.”
“Isn’t that nice, please don’t tell me more.”
“Yeah, right after I finished high school, I was kinda…y’know, just hanging around wondering what to do with myself. College didn’t work out too well for me, so I just went off to Europe. Best decision I ever made.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
Mathias seemed to tense a bit at that- minor details, like the tightening of his fist around the wheel and the little line his mouth made. This was fleeting, of course, as he soon dissolved
back into the raucous oaf Lukas loathed to call stepbrother.
“Guess so. But yeah, college and stuff didn’t really pan out, so I met up with this guy I went to school with. Absolutely fucking insane, but the guy knows a good time. So he had this shitload of money left over from somebody dying or something, and he had this big speech about life being too short to spend behind a desk. So we went to Europe. Germany, Finland, Norway. Denmark. Most awesome country on the planet right there. You ever been?”
Re: Untitled, Part 3/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-01-28 01:18 am (UTC)(link)Mathias laughed. “You know me well, kid. Man, the shit I did in Copenhagen. Can’t tell you until you’re eighteen, though. Nah, sixteen, you should be able to handle this shit when you’re sixteen.”
Why on earth would Lukas want to know about the sex, drugs, and rock n roll Mathias indulged in during his stay in Denmark? This balanced on the tip of his tongue, but his mouth was a filthy traitor and said something most definitely not appropriate.
“I grew up in Norway. Did you like it?”
Oh yes, Lukas, tell this asshole you barely know all about your life and then act as though his insipid, booze-addled brain can come up with anything resembling a valid thought by asking his fucking opinion!
“Well, I went up there right after Denmark. At this point, Gilbert- my friend- had run into some tourist and was off doing whatever, I don’t think anybody wants to know. So I went up to- turn left here, right?- up to Risør. And it was so…”
Lukas, why are you holding your breath, you don’t care, his opinion is stupid.
“It was probably the most peaceful I’d ever been in my life. I was staying right off the coastline, in a small little family owned hotel. And you know, in Germany and Denmark and everywhere else, all I did was just fuck around. Like Gilbert said, life’s too short not to fuck around. But there I just…” Mathias’ words trailed off a bit at that. He sighed, with a little self-deprecating laugh. “It’s hard to describe, I’m no good with words. The best I can say is… I was kind of different there, in Risør. I spent one whole night just sitting on the beach, staring at the water and just…thinking. Wasn’t even stoned or anything. It was weird.”
“Yeah.” Lukas turned away to stare out the window. What had started as ominous clouds and light spit had at some point morphed into a full on torrential rainstorm. Lukas always liked how much greener everything looked in the rain. He wasn’t sure if it was the water or the contrast against the grey sky that made that way, but the why never mattered as much as the how.
“Where are you from?”
“Stavanger.”
Mathias hummed, before a crease marred his forehead. He turned into Lukas’ neighbourhood- the sort of community that referred to itself as estates and had carbon copy houses lined up in perfect rows. Every garden was perfectly cultivated and tended to, the walks were swept free of any stray leaves or bird shit, and if not for the perfectly polished brass numbers adorning each home one would never be able to tell them apart. Just lost in a sea of curb-appeal houses and grinning young women trimming their rosebushes.
Re: Untitled, Part 3/? E
(Anonymous) 2012-01-28 01:20 am (UTC)(link)“You can just let me out here.” As humorous as it was to watch Mathias try not to massacre any of the pricey sports cars littering the streets, Lukas wasn’t in the mood for schadenfreude that day. Not during the few blissful hours of solitude an empty house granted him. God, he could do whatever he wanted now.
“Tell me about it.”
“About what?”
“Stavanger. It’s a bit up north, huh? Damn cold, Norway is. I forgot my gloves one day and couldn’t even drive, my hands were so numb. Got arrested for it, too. Shoulda gone back to the hotel when I noticed they were gone, but hindsight is a bitch. Like these roads.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“Because I was drunk the whole time.”
Lukas couldn’t help the little giggle that bubbled out of his chest at that. “You’re so stupid.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t my brightest moment. But you get to be my age, you’ll understand.”
“I don’t think so. And I thought you said that you felt more relaxed in Norway.”
There it was again, that clench of his hand on the steering wheel. Did he think Lukas didn’t notice? Mathias turned his face away slightly. “It’s a long story. But you didn’t answer my question.
How was Stavanger?”
“It was….” Beautiful? Nice? The only place I’ll ever see as home, not this stupid set-piece in this imitation of my life? Choices, choices. Lukas ultimately chose “it was where I lived before my mom met your dad.” He said the last bit in an accusatory tone, even though he knew Mathias could hardly be held accountable for his father’s actions. He’d even go so far as to say that Mathias wasn’t thrilled with their new family situation either.
Minor details like these never stopped Lukas. But all Mathias did was click his tongue and mumble “I know.”
Silence permeated the little car, a sort of comfortable silence that Mathias didn’t feel inclined to destroy with stupid jokes or random observations. However, when they finally pulled up to the house (number 21, with the orchids), Lukas couldn’t get out of the shitmobile faster.
“Uh, thanks.” He muttered, almost drowned out by the sounds of the war between raindrops and pavement. Mathias’ “anytime, kid!” couldn’t be drowned out by the Earth crashing into the sun. Fancy that contrast.
“Oh, hey!”
What now? Lukas would really prefer not to be soaked through to the bone.
“What?”
Mathias drummed his fingers on the dash and leaned back in the seat a bit, his leisurely movement only emphasizing the fact that whilst Lukas was being consumed by a Biblical shower, Mathias was nice and toasty in his rusty little metal can on wheels.
“Will you get on with it before my skin washes off?”
Re: Untitled, Part 3/? F
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-28 01:23 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 3/? G
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(Anonymous) - 2012-01-29 01:05 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 3/? H
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-30 09:41 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 3/? H
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-30 17:44 (UTC) - Expandlate op! is late but....
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-31 06:35 (UTC) - ExpandUntitled, Part 4/? A
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(Anonymous) - 2012-02-08 21:48 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 4/? D
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-08 21:52 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 4/? E and Thank Yous
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-08 22:16 (UTC) - Expandgo go gadget ANALYSE
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-09 00:19 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 4/? E and Thank Yous
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-09 18:51 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 4/? E and Thank Yous
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-10 07:23 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 4/? E and Thank Yous
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-11 17:36 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 4/? E and Thank Yous
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-14 00:27 (UTC) - ExpandUntitled, Part 5/? A
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(Anonymous) - 2012-02-18 00:59 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 5/? F
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-18 01:01 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 5/? Thank Yous
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(Anonymous) - 2012-02-18 07:06 (UTC) - Expandop!
(Anonymous) - 2012-02-18 09:16 (UTC) - ExpandPlease tell me you didn't desert this fanfic!
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-10 12:31 (UTC) - ExpandA!Anon
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-10 17:31 (UTC) - ExpandThank you, A!Anon!
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-10 21:05 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 5/? Thank Yous
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(Anonymous) - 2012-09-08 22:50 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 5/? F
(Anonymous) - 2012-09-26 23:07 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Untitled, Part 1/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-04-15 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)So looking forward to seeing how this unfolds! Keep up the good work!
Re: Untitled, Part 1/? D
(Anonymous) 2012-04-17 07:33 am (UTC)(link)